Canadian Scones
by RabbitFangs0108
Summary: Your life has always been normal. Same routine, same job, same life. However, you've felt like you've been missing something. Guess Fate has a way of completely turning your life around through a pot of coffee and a grocery cart, eh? UKxreaderxCanada
1. First Impression

_A/N: Okay, I'm not someone who tends to read a lot of reader insert fanfics. However, my sister has had a crush on the Hetalia England character for a while now, and then she told me about the awesome Canada that she RPs with, and it got me thinking about how amusing it could be with these two characters fighting over another character._

_And, so, this story was born._

_This story can also be found on Deviantart under the same name and will remain a chapter ahead of the FanFiction account one. So, hopefully, you guys will enjoy this attempt at writing a reader insert. :)_

_And now…I bring you _Canadian Scones!_ :D_

Chapter 1: First Impression

You've always lived a normal life. You'd wake up at 6:15 a.m., hit the alarm button to make that darned alarm clock just shut up, then shower. Afterwards, you'd eat a breakfast consisting of Eggo waffles and orange juice before heading out the door at 6:45. Driving your car, you'd take the same, normal route you've always taken since moving into the city and arrive to your workplace twenty-three minutes later. Clocking in, you'd sit at your desk, doing the same, normal secretary job you've done since you've been hired into the company. You'd take your lunch break at noon (always eating a turkey sandwich and drinking a bottle of water), then go straight back to working. Five hours later, you'd pack up and head out to your car. Depending on the grocery level at your house, you'd be able to arrive home twenty to fifty minutes later. Then, it'd be dinner, reading a book, and going online to chat with friends on Facebook for an hour or so before calling it a day. At 10:27 p.m., you'd crawl into bed, turn off the lamp, and fall asleep. Then, you'd repeat the pattern the next day.

And, quite frankly, this "normal" life is reeeeeaaalllly starting to get on your nerves.

You let your head connect with your desk, scattering a few papers into disarray. When the hell did your life get to be so _dull?_ You remember that, a few years ago, you wanted to travel, meet new people, make new friends…get a boyfriend.

So far, you've met zero life goals. How depressing.

"Miss _, are you feeling alright?" Peeking a glance upwards, you see a man with dark hair standing in front of your desk. He's wearing a noticeably expensive brown suit with a tasteful tie and that watch just screams "cost me a fortune". His chocolate eyes are narrowed, but only out of concern. After all, seeing you with your head against the desk is a first for him.

"Oh!" You exclaim, getting back into a respectable seating position. "Good morning, Mr. Johnson! And there's no reason to be worried about me! I'm in perfect health," you add, a bit embarrassed at being caught by your boss at lagging behind.

Mr. Johnson raises an eyebrow, but doesn't say anything else. "I just wanted to remind you about the British representative that will be coming over today." Seeing your blank face, he lets out a sigh. "I can see that your memory span makes itself known again. Remember those important notes I handed to you after I came back from the United Kingdom? I explained that I needed a few copies typed and printed out for the representative that'd be coming around to check out our company."

Suddenly, you remember everything. "AAAAAAAAAAHHH!" you shriek, jumping out of your chair. You head towards the counter, noticing that there's no fresh coffee in the coffeemaker. Checking the cupboards, you couldn't find any coffee sources. Wanting to keep a supply of coffee in case Mr. Johnson and the British man wants any, you scramble out of the office room, remembering to grab an empty coffee pot. "Be back with coffee!" you manage to throw to Mr. Johnson before rushing out of the room. You don't see Mr. Johnson's amused look before he enters his own office room.

"Gotta run gotta run gotta run," you chant, rushing down the hallways with a newly-filled coffee pot. Oh, goodness. How could you have forgotten such an important event? _No need to panic,_ you tell yourself. _There's no need to get overworked about this. It's only one of the _most important representatives _that could make or break the company…_

Well. That little internal chat did nothing to help you out. "Gotta run gotta run gotta run," you continue to chant, rushing even faster down the hallways. You're almost back to the doorway leading to your desk when you trip over your own feet, making the coffee pot sail into the air.

Your hopes of the coffee pot not hitting someone gets dashed once you hear the familiar poosh!-ing noise of a liquid being absorbed by some sort of fabric. Seconds later you hear a sizzling noise followed shortly by extremely loud curses. British curses.

You feel yourself going cold as you look up, desperately praying to God that you didn't just soak the person you thought you soaked with boiling hot coffee. Unfortunately, the accent gives the man away as the important British representative that's supposed to be checking out the company.

"Bloody wanker!" he continues to shout, trying to get the (boiling hot) moisture out of his blue suit. His hair has been matted down by the coffee hitting him square on, and you're just thankful that these hallways are floored by stone from the way he's dripping. The man continues to look mad. "Watch where you're going, you-" He opens his eyes, and you can see that they're a handsome green color. Upon spotting you, he stops cold with whatever curse he was going to fling your way.

This, you decide, would be the perfect opportunity to speak to him.

"Oh, dear God, I am so sorry!" you gasp, getting up from the floor. Then, to your adding embarrassment, you babble. "I spaced out that someone such as yourself was coming down today to check up on this established company and I started to panic and I got some coffee for you and Mr. Johnson and I'M SUCH A KLUTZ!" You grab his arm and drag him through the doorway. Grabbing some paper towels off of the counter, you rip a generous amount off of the roll and start drying him off. "I'm sorry for making your suit such a mess."

The man grabs a few paper towels, too, and wipes down his coffee-drenched sleeve. "It is quite alright," he stammers, glancing up at you every few seconds. "It was an accident. You did not mean to drop a coffee pot onto me."

You rip off more towels, trying to scrub the heck out of the torso area of the suit. For some reason, this causes the man to blush. "The fault is still mine. The least I can do is pay for the dry cleaning." Frowning at the towel that you've slightly ripped to shreds with your wiping, you toss it into the trash can and grab more towels to replace the shredded ones.

The foreigner gently grasps the towels from you and continues to do his best in getting out as much coffee from his suit as possible. "There's no need for that. As a gentleman, I should not have shouted such obscenities at you, Miss…?"

It takes you a bit to notice that he's stopped speaking. It takes you even longer to figure out that he's waiting for an introduction from you. "M-my name is _," you say, a bit nervous that he's remembering your name in order to give it to a hit man later on in the day. From the way he's been looking at you, he's probably remembering your features, too.

He gives a small smile. "What a lovely name," he compliments. He holds out the hand not gripping the now-brown paper towels, a smile still on his face. "I'm Arthur Kirkland. You can call me Arthur. I am pleased to meet your acquaintance." He has an amused twinkle in his eye. "…Although I am sure this was not how you expected to meet me."

You give a nervous laugh before deciding to bring up the current issue. "Um…I'm pretty sure that you don't want to appear before Mr. Johnson soaking wet." Seeing him still standing there, a bit more dry than he was a few minutes earlier, you still feel a pang of guilt.

"No worries, dear. I always pack an extra suit in case of emergencies."

You shake your head. "I made the mistake. I should fix it." You grab the dirty paper towels from Arthur and dump them into the trash. "Uh, I'm assuming that you'll want to know where the bathrooms are located?" Noticing Arthur's raised eyebrows (_His eyebrows are huge! _you think) and his amused expression, you think back to your question and how stupidly obvious it was that he wanted to change in the restrooms. You shake your head. "Yeah, yeah, dumb question. Um, bathrooms are located down the hallway, take a left turn. While you talk to Mr. Johnson, I'll take your suit to the cleaners." You narrow your eyes. "You will not argue."

Arthur holds his hands out in surrender. He grabs his suitcase and turns to leave the room. He abruptly stops and turns to stare at you. He looks a bit uncertain as he looks into your eyes. "You know, I'll be scoping the company out for a few weeks. Would it be a bother if I asked you to-"

You interrupt him before he can continue. "Oh! You want someone to give you our company's reports? Sure!" you reply with a smile, hoping that the reports would be a peace offering for possibly ruining Arthur's suit (and slightly burning him alive).

You notice Arthur's smile twitch. "Uh, okay." He turns around to go to change, and as he leaves you hear him mumbling under his breath. Once he fully exits, you flop down into your chair and hit your head against your desk, groaning. Oh, what a mess you've gotten yourself into!

Mr. Johnson's door opens. "Miss _, is everything alright out here?" Mr. Johnson asks. "I heard some commotion going on."

Spinning around, you wave your hands in a denying fashion while shaking your head. "N-no need to worry, Mr. Johnson! I've taken care of everything!"

Mr. Johnson raises and eyebrow at your statement. "Once the representative comes in, just show him right into my office, alright?" He closes the door before you can give him a response.

You place your head back onto the desktop. All you can think of is the great screw-up you made with the British representative that could decide the future you have in this company (read:employed).

"What a great first impression I made," you grumble, getting back up to grab the paper towels. After all, you can't exactly call a janitor down to mop up that puddle in the hallway without admitting what happened with Arthur.


	2. Maple Syrup Meetings

_A/N: *sigh* Another long wait for another one of my stories. Sorry about that. I'm just glad that I finally hurdled over that stupid writer's block I've had for a while there._

_Anyways, thanks to everyone who's reviewed, favorited, and followed this story as well as your patience. May you have a wonderful Christmas, and a happy New Year! :D_

Chapter 2: Maple Syrup Meetings

You successfully sneak out of the office building, coffee-stained suit in your grasp. Before leaving you had promised Arthur to bring back his suit from the cleaners as soon as you possibly could with a polite smile on your face. You wonder if Arthur was ill with the way his face turned red.

You have no need to drive to the dry cleaners, since the nearest shop is a few blocks from your work place. Why waste the gas when you could just walk? Whistling to the tune of your favorite song, you take the short trek down the street and arrive to Monica's 24-Hr Dry Cleaning. Opening the door and setting off the bell, you enter the small yet friendly establishment and walk right up to the register. Tapping your foot, you wait for service.

The door leading to the back half of the store opens, revealing a short woman with shoulder-lengthed auburn hair. She's wearing black dress pants, black high heel shoes, and a light blue sweatshirt. Once she directs her gaze towards you, you take note that she's wearing red cat-eyed contacts.

Upon recognizing you, the woman gives a toothy grin. "_! Oh, goodness, it's been sooo long!"

You give a replying smile, slightly waving with the one arm not holding onto the ruined suit. "Hey there, Monica. How's business?"

The one dubbed Monica continues to wear that grin. "It's been going." She spots the suit in your arms and decides to point one manicured nail at it. "I'll assume that that's the reason you came in and not because you wanted to chat."

You nod, handing her the suit. "I sort of…splashed some coffee on it."

Monica inspects the suit. Once she gets a general idea of the mess, she snorts. "Are you sure you splashed some coffee on it? Looks like you dumped the entire thing in a tub or something!" Your sheepish smile sends Monica into fits of laughter. "I'm not that surprised," she comments, wiping away a tear from her eye. "After all, you were known in high school to be accident prone."

"That's not true," you argue, no matter how weak your statement is. Changing the subject you then ask your longest-known friend, "How long will it take to get cleaned? I want to return it to before the end of my shift."

Monica rubs her chin, lost in thought. "I guess that, since you're an awesome friend, I could bump you to the top of the list. Unfortunately, with the mess you made, it'll be a while before it's done."

"How long?" you ask again.

Monica sighs, placing the suit on the counter. "I can have it done by the same time tomorrow. That's the best I can do!" she adds, stopping you short of the complaints that had started coming out of your mouth. "This is a delicate suit, _. I can't just poop out magic and make it brand new in only a few hours, okay?

"Fine," you mumble, crossing your arms. With the pouty face you're currently wearing, you look like a young child who didn't get their way. "Call me when it's done?"

Monica laughs, slapping you on the back. Ouch. "Call you when it's done? You seriously have to ask me that?" You say your goodbye before heading out. Touching the handle of the door, Monica shouts for your attention. "Hey! Tomorrow I want details of what happened!"

You roll your eyes, but you have a smile on your face. Even throughout the years, Monica's never changed. (Although, in a pinch, you wish that she wouldn't tease you like she does.)

O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O

Re-entering the building, the front desk stops you. "Mr. Johnson said that you left on official business," he explains. "Since he'll be busy the rest of the afternoon, he wants you to pick some items up. Good luck," the man adds, handing you a (very, VERY long) grocery list.

Sometimes you've gotta wonder whether or not Mr. Johnson views you as a maid. Either that, or he knew what you did, and this is payback. You go with the second option as you grumble your way to the parking lot. Glancing at the list, you head off towards the nearest supercenter which, unfortunately, is outside of the city limits.

Reaching the store, you exit your car, making sure that you lock it. Then you wait for the sliding doors to open, grab a grocery cart, and start shopping.

You first head off towards the medication and grab several bottles of Tylenol off of the shelf. You also go to grab Band-Aids, but the store is all out of the bland kind. You huff, not liking this situation at all. You do see some other types of Band-Aids and you have an internal battle of whether or not you should just go to a different store.

_Ah, screw it. If the department complains about having Barbie and Barney Band-Aids, then they can go suck an egg,_ you decide, chucking many boxes of those two Band-Aid brands into the grocery cart. You look back down at the list, checking to see if you need to buy anything else down this particular section. Seeing that you've got everything, you nod to yourself in satisfaction and continue towards the food.

You buy many mini munchies to place in the employee lounge as well as sneaking a few into your desk. As you continue to pass down the many food aisles you catch a glimpse of something that makes you turn your head.

It turns out that the object that caught your attention was a maple syrup bottle. You pause, staring at breakfast condiment. Thinking back, you remember that you just ran out of syrup for your Eggo waffles and that you may as well buy a bottle while you're here. You'll just pay that with your own money. With that decided you turn your cart and march right over to that bottle of syrup.

And you run your cart over an unfortunate individual.

Once you hit an unnatural bump and heard a following "Oof", you stop dead in your tracks. Looking down you see that you just ran over some person with long-ish blonde hair wearing an oversized red sweatshirt.

Maybe you shouldn't have put all your concentration onto that syrup bottle (no matter how delicious maple syrup is).

"Ack!" you shriek, pushing the cart the rest of the way forward. You kneel down, one hand in front of your mouth while the other checks the pulse of the unfortunate soul that's had the pleasure of getting run down.

The person groans and you whip your hand away. "Oh god!" you exclaim, rolling the person over. "I'm sorry! I'm sorry! I'msorryI'msorryI'msorry!" You continue to apologize, closing in towards the person's face.

The person groans again, and now without the floor to muffle the voice, you can tell that the person is male. "Ooooh, maple," he gasps, voice quiet as he rubs his head. "What happened?" He then opens his eyes and makes contact with you.

With you being somewhat close, you can notice almost every detail. First off, he looks as though he's about twenty years old. His hair is a golden color that reminds you of hay and a strange piece of hair that somehow defies gravity and curls forward. He has an oval-shaped face (and a quite handsome face at that). His eyes are of an unusual color, and this is the first person you've met that has blue-violet eyes. The front of the red sweatshirt has a white maple leaf on it. You decide that, all-in-all, he's a very cute man.

Your close proximity to his face, though, causes him to whisper-shriek. You flinch, thinking that he's afraid that you'll run him over again. He starts to stand, and you can see him wobbling.

Quickly getting up, you reach over and grab hold of his arms before he can fall back down. "I apologize," you say, steadying him in the middle of the aisle. "I was so focused on buying that syrup that I didn't see you standing there!"

The man continues to rub his head with one hand while waving to you in a it's-okay manner. "I-I'm fine," he says, though you have to listen closely to his voice since he speaks so quietly. "I'm used to not being noticed."

You stomp your foot in frustration. "No! It's not fine! Gosh, darn it, why is this day so horrible!" You pace, forgetting that you just ran over the man as though he were roadkill. "First I spill a pot of coffee on an important individual, then I have to do this dumb shopping trip for a boss who's probably only making me do this for his amusement, and now I run some stranger down!" Grabbing your hair, you mumble something unintelligible.

"Um, I'm sorry that your day isn't going to well," a voice says behind you. You whip around, about ready to have your fist meet someone's head when you notice that it's the same guy that you just ran down. Goodness gracious, he needs to learn to speak like a normal person!

You see him still holding his head, and you get a bit concerned. "Are you alright?" you ask, getting closer to the man.

He gives out a nervous laugh. "Please don't worry," he asks. "I'll be fi-WHAT IN MAPLE ARE YOU DOING EH?!"

While he was trying to convince you that he was fine, you had continued to get closer and had just grabbed his head. "I'm inspecting your head," you explain, carefully running your fingers through his hair. "I'm checking to see if my running you over with a cart caused any scrapes." You don't notice how he sputters, or how his cheeks start to flame up, or how he starts to whisper-yell in French.

After checking to make sure that his head isn't bleeding anywhere, you let out a sigh and then release hold. He gives you a wide-eyed expression, and you're reminded of a deer in headlights. "You don't seem to be bleeding," you announce. "However, you still should see a doctor."

The man jumps back, quickly waving his hands in front of him while trying to reassure you. "Th-that's okay! I'm fi-" You give him a glare that says "do not argue with me for I know what's best" . He squeaks again. "On second thought, I guess that a trip to the doctor's sounds good."

You give him a smile _(I wonder if there's a bug going around? _ you think, seeing how the man's face starts to turn pink) and pull out a notepad. While jotting the name of your doctor down, you give him instructions. "Since I hurt you, it's only fair that you should go to my doctor to have him check you out. I don't want there to be any injuries that neither of us know about that could cause harm later on." You rip out the piece of paper and hold it out. "This is the name of my doctor, the address of the clinic, and my phone number. Go to him and tell him that _ sent you and to give me the bill. Okay?" you ask, a soft smile grazing your face.

"Um, okay," he caves in, taking the piece of paper. He looks at it for a long time, and you're happy that he seems to be memorizing the name and address of your doctor (and NOT looking at your phone number).

"Good." You grab a bottle of that maple syrup and place it in the cart. Waving goodbye, you start down the aisle before remembering an important detail. Spinning around and still seeing the man there, you call down, "By the way, my full name is _. And you are?"

He stutters out a reply, but you can't hear his quiet voice from where you're standing. You shout back, "I'm sorry. Who are you?"

"M-my name is Matthew," the twenty-year-old replied, a light blush dusting his face.

"Nice to meet you Matthew, and sorry about the circumstances of our meeting!" You wave to him, and then you turn around, glad that you could repay the man…_Matthew _back for dragging that cursed grocery cart over him.

Still smiling, you look down at that maple syrup bottle that got you into all this trouble in the first place. At least you met someone new, and now that bottle would make you look back at this particular memory for a long, long time.

Then, you realize that now you'd not only have to pay the dry cleaning bill but also the doctor bill that would surely follow. Stopping dead, you curse. "Hasn't this been an expensive day?" you tell yourself dryly as you walk through the store.


End file.
